Club Britain (you’re not coming in)

Club Britain

You’re not coming in.
Not by train or by bus or by sea.
Not by marriage or by family.
Your name’s not down and you’re not coming in.
Even if you half-drowned to get here
camped out in sub-zero temperatures
and risked everything clinging to the underside of a lorry.
Even if your house burnt down
and you spent your life savings getting on the list
it’s the wrong list
you’ve got the wrong name
and you’re not coming in.

Entry is at the discretion of management
and management don’t like your face.
They don’t like your sandals.
They don’t like your farmer’s outfit.
They don’t like your hair.
They don’t like your company.
They don’t like your dancing.
And they don’t understand a word you say.
The answer’s the same.
Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin
you’re not coming in.